Fallen
by SourSugarQuills
Summary: When Cas falls, he doesn't stay in Jimmy's body. Instead, he lives as a young boy in Lima, Ohio. His name is Kurt Hummel.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Well, another crossover by your lovely SourSugarQuills. I love them, I really do. Anyway, I got this idea when I was listening from music, and how my idea of a small Cas looks a bit like a small Kurt.

_Disclaimer- I own neither of these__** amazing**__ shows. If I did, Cas would never, ever be thought dead. EVER. _

Prologue

Burt Hummel looked down on his wife and child. His child! He was still thrilled at the prospect. For years, they had been trying for a kid, with no success. And now, this! Practically a baby angel giggled at the child's mother's side. At one year old, the kid had sprouted a nice amount of auburn hair, and had the prettiest blue eyes he had ever seen. Kurt, was his name. A gorgeous, lovely name she had said. Not to mention it matches yours, she laughed, and he smiled. Kurt was currently laughing as his mother blew bubbles from one of the bubble blowing jars that you bought for a dollar at the supermarket. Yeah, his kid was a miracle, and _nobody _was ever going to hurt him. Ever.

-=OOO=-

Cas had been gone for a year now. Cas said he was falling, and what did Dean do? Absolutely nothing. He just figured Cas would still be there, he always did. He just thought that Cas would stay in his body, and then some way, they'd be able to get the Angel of Thursday hyped back up on his mojo. As usual, nothing went perfect for the Winchesters. When Cas fell, he _died._ Jimmy was long gone by then, and all they had to remember him by was a body, and a tan trench coat. They cremated the body-an old habit they couldn't help-and placed the trench coat in the trunk of the Impala.

Dean was getting ripped at the seams, and he took to repeating we'll find him, we'll find him, at night, after he woke up from his latest nightmare from perdition. He thought that Sam was asleep-he wasn't.

-=OOO=-

Kurt was two, and things started to change. At night he screamed whenever the lights went out. _"Daddy! Daddy!"_ He'd wail. Of course, Burt would come rushing into the room, trying to calm his poor son.

"Shh, Kurt, It's okay, It's okay. Daddy's here. Daddy's always here." He murmured. Kurt always kept yelling until he said _'Daddy's always here.'_ Confused, Burt put the boy down, and tried to keep a light on.

The screams increased nightly. They were only reduced to sobs of _"Why aren't you here, daddy?"_ As Burt held him.

"Daddy's here, Kurt, Don't you see? I'm daddy. I'm right here." Suddenly, the boys screams magnified by a tenfold. He pounded on Burt, screaming. **"**_**You aren't my daddy! Go away!"**_

"What's going on?" Mrs. Hummel asked, panicking as she burst into the room.

"I don't know, I told him I was his father, and he just broke out! I don't know what to do!"

Just then, young little Kurt's eyes focused on the book his mother was holding. It was a pretty, leather bound bible, with golden pages. He stopped making noise all together. "Book," He whispered. "Please let me see the book, Mommy," He stared up at her with the beautiful blue eyes of his, lip quivering.

"Sure, Kurtie," His mother looked down at him, a little confused. "Which book. Do you want Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White?" She asked.

Kurt shook his head. "That one," He pointed at the book in her hand.

"This one? It's not a book for sweet little boys like yourself, Kurtie. This is a big kid book," She told him charmingly.

"No, that one." Kurt told her. " I want to see _that_ one."

"Okay…" she sat down, with him. "Do you want me to read it to you?" She asked, more than a little confused.

"No," Kurt replied. "I'll read it." He smiles, and opens the book, taking it away from his mother. He reads it with expertise, each syllable flowing. The minutes flew by, and it was getting late.

"Time for bed now, honey," She smiled down at him.

He pouted. "Just one more stowwy?" He asked.

"Sorry honey, not tonight. I'll let you read more tomorrow, dear." 

Kurt considers it. "You sure?"

She grinned. "Very. But for now, beddy-bye time. Sleep tight, my sweet Kurtie." She placed a small kiss onto his forehead as she placed him in the crib.

The next day, she tried to get him to read "The Hungry Caterpillar." His eyebrows drew together as he struggled with the words. He mangled and chopped them up, until it sounded something like this-"th-_ee_ hun-g_**r**_y cat-te**p**il-_**l**__ar_, was _ve_r-_y_, very hu**n**-_gry. _S_o_ he _a_**t**e and _a_**t**e, an' _a_**te.**"

As Kurt ate the his peanut butter sandwich for lunch, his parents whispered. "_How can he read _Matthew _without _perfectly,_ but with something as simple as "The Hungry Caterpillar" he can barely make our the sentences? " "I don't know…Maybe we should just forget about all of this." "Alright," _They agreed.

-=OOO=-

When Kurt is five, Burt takes him to the garage. The first word Kurt mutters is _"_Impala". Burt stares at him oddly.

"Where'd you learn that, kiddo?"

Kurt's brow furrows in confusion. "I-I can't remember. I don't know why…"

Desperately trying to change the subject, he moves on to how you change the oil.

-=OOO=-

Cas has been gone for five years now. Sam's afraid Dean will break. Chances of ever seeing the angel again are getting slimmer by the second, and they know it. Dean dances in death's grasp-if anything happens to him, he doesn't care. He gets hurt gladly. He no longer cares, no longer lives for things. Sam thinks the only reason that he didn't kill himself already is because of Sammy, and the Impala. Who knew what would happen if he died, and left the Impala in Sam's possession. He works on the Impala more than ever, though she's more fit than anything NASA has, let alone NASCAR. They're the only things he has left, her and Sam.

And he's not going to let them slip through his grasp, no way. He's not letting anything slip out of his grasp. Not anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I could have _sworn_ I updated this! I thought I updated this! Unfortunately, I have to rewrite everything that I wrote, due to the fact I _can't find it on my computer!_ Anyways, for that, I apologize. I also apologize that this won't make it to you Friday night, due to the fact I'm having a sleepover with my dear friend.

WiccaWolf- Don't worry, I'm continuing. I almost always continue. Yes, of course that will happen, (the meeting that is.) And, dear, I love Destiel. Of course there will be a loving relationship. Really, Cas is actually older than Dean so it shouldn't be too bad… (Technically, Cas is millions of trillions of years older than Dean. So really, it shouldn't matter, or at least I don't think so, which I suppose is kind of biased, due to the fact I write lots of age differences. *Shrug* Of course, it won't be that early. Even I draw a line somewhere.)

On with the show!

_Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural._

**Chapter Two**

Kurt was nine, and Mrs. Hummel died. Sure, Burt himself went through some tough times then, but on Kurt, it was ten times worse. Kurt turned into a shell of himself—never singing along to Disney, or even talking anymore. He barely participated in class—just enough to get himself through the low state standards. Burt could hear him sobbing in the night, though a word was never uttered through his lips. During the day, Kurt just didn't care. He didn't play with that Mercedes Jones girl anymore, or that Rachel Berry girl. He just…stopped. He started drawing pictures, but nothing like the other kids. Most of the boys drew cars, or footballs, and girls drew princesses. Kurt….Kurt drew monsters. Gruesome details of things that Burt couldn't even imagine were played out in front of him by his son and crayons. Each one of them was labeled in Kurt's childish print—Wendigo, Pagan God, Vampire, Werewolf, Shape-shifter, and then the worst—Leviathans.

One night, Burt realizes that Leviathans were monsters in the bible; he promptly threw out the book that left his wife to die, make his son the kid who quietly sat in the corner drawing _monsters_ of all things, the book that wrote of evil monsters and plagues.

From that day forward, the Hummels were a non-religious family.

-=OOO=-

Dean wasn't doing well. It had been almost a decade since Cas was disappeared. Ever seeing him again were near impossible, but that's what kept Dean going, because anyone knew that if something near impossible was going to happen, it was going to happen to the Winchesters. They kept hunting, it's what they did. They saved people, making sure that innocents wouldn't die. Even if it meant sacrificing his sanity—or perhaps, keeping it in tact, as if he was doing anything else, he would surely go mad quicker.

It was as though the Winchesters physically couldn't age. The years had gone by, yet they never felt older. In all the nine years that Cas was gone, Dean still felt the same 36 (An: _Just taking a guess! Sorry!_) years he was.( Not including his forty down on the rack…) and Sam felt the same.

They passed small town after small town, saving some sucker every day. Of course, they couldn't save everyone. Some poor guy had to be killed for them to get drawn into said small as f*** town. So when they passed a town called Lima, in Ohio, and stopped to get some stuff for an oil change on the Impala it really didn't make any difference.

-=OOO=-

Lima didn't really get very many visitors, so when a thirty-something guy and another one waltzed into his shop for some oil, it didn't go unnoticed. Especially when he was driving in such a classic car.

Burt whistled when the black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala rolled up into his shop, a man stepping out of it. "Nice car you got there," He told him.

"She is, isn't she?" The man grinned, obviously proud. "You got oil here, right?"

"Yeah. She need a change?" he asked, fiddling with his baseball cap.

"Nah, I'll just take some oil and do it at home, but thanks for the offer." The man grinned, sparing a look at the beauty of a car parked just a few meters away.

"Smart guy, in this economy. Well, I'll go and grab some, just wait a sec." Burt chuckled.

The man laughed. "Yeah. Well, it's been nice talking to you." He said as Burt rang him up.

"You bet." Burt called as the man left.

Unbeknownst to them, little Kurt had snuck into the shop, as quiet as a ghost, and all of the sudden started whispering out "Dean. Dean. _Dean, Dean Winchester. _The Righteous Man."

AN: Sorry about the long wait, any grammatical errors (though I think I'm getting better at that! (Other than fragments…GAH!)) and of course the length, as it's still 196 words away from being at my usual.

Live Long and Winchester,

~SSQ


	3. Chapter 3

AN: To any and all of you who also read _Supernatural Kids:_ I'm sorry I haven't updated! I really am. I just have no idea what to write. I tried writing once, but I was also attempting to play the Sims at that time, and since my Sims is being a jerk right now, and crashed, getting rid of all of my writing…. Anyway, onto the main attraction.

_Disclaimer—I don't own anything._

**Chapter three**

When Kurt dreamed, he dreamed of wings. Charred black from the depths of perdition, ravenous wings that stretched high, and flew marvelously. Black, beautiful wings, tinted blue in the light of the moon. He dreamed of those wings falling, being ripped inhumanely from his back, the agony unbearable. He dreamed of blue eyes, and trench coats.

Kurt was eight when he knew for a fact that anyone named Jimmy was a trustworthy person. He was only five when he knew that anyone named Sam was. Two with Dean.

Of course, these were a child's dreams, ones that he no longer thought about, or cared about. He was seventeen now, and on the cheerios again. Seventeen and a senior; seventeen and nothing to put on his application for NYADA; seventeen, and with a boyfriend named Blaine.

Of course, Blaine never knew about anything, the pictures he drew as a child, (And the ones he still drew) the dreams he once had, his reasons to trust people named Dean, Sam, and Jimmy. Blaine didn't know that he didn't think he actually loved him. Blaine didn't know that he knew more about the bible than anyone who actually went to church, and Blaine didn't know he knew how to draw odd looking sigils that he had no idea what were, or that he took comfort in reciting the names of angels.

Well, he didn't, until one day after Glee.

Kurt had a test that day, a really big one that if he got anything below 90% _any_ chance of going to NYADA would be vanquished, and to top it off, he got about two hours of sleep last night. Usually, he took more care in covering what he was drawing, and what he mumbled under his breath, but not then.

He hugged his sketch pad to his chest, another weird symbol blatantly exposed on the other side, mumbling things. Blaine, confused, walked over to see what was going on with his boyfriend, but when he came over, Kurt just ignored him more. Annoyed and confused, he moved in closer to hear what he what he was saying.

"_Gabriel, Michael, Raphael…"_

Blaine was _really_ confused now. What on earth was he talking about?

"…_Balthazar, Anael…" _

"Kurt? Hey, are you okay?" He whispered to his boyfriend.

Kurt jumped, eyes wide open. "B-Blaine! You were there? Oh…Um…Well…" His eyes flew from place to place, finally resting on the clock. "Oh! Um, time for Cheerios! Sorry, I'll see you soon Blaine."

Since that day happened to be a Friday, and Homecoming night of all days, the Cheerios had extra practice before the game. "Oh, okay…." Blaine trailed off.

Kurt got up and left in a hurry, not even noticing that the sketch pad fell from his arms.

-=OOO=-

Dean and Sam where on a hunt, seventeen years after Cas disappeared. Demons had been hitting small town after small town in Ohio—(Ohio, of all places!)—and something was wrong. Something was very wrong. They drove past a place called Hummel's auto ((I'm not sure if I got this right….)) and a faint memory stirred inside of him—a couple years back, he drove up to this place—the man in charge was particularly appreciative of the Impala.

"Alright Sammy, where have these son's of b****es been hitting again?"

"Um, According to what I've seen, the local High schools." Sam replied, looking down at the laptop on his lap.

"Kids? Man, even for demons, that's low."

"Exactly. So, their usual victim a male, seventeen to eighteen year old…"

Dean listened to Sammy drone on and on about the case, before cutting in. "So, are you sure this town is the right place?"

"It's the only one that follows their pattern, Dean." Sam sighed, exasperated. "This is the place." He pointed.

True to his word, the local high school McKinley High moved into view. The two got out of the car, only to see that some type of football game as going on.

Suddenly, blood curdling screams echoed through the dark night air.

-=OOO=-

McKinely was losing, three to seven. It was half time, when suddenly; Kurt didn't feel…_himself _anymore. He jumped out of his place on the pyramid, and ran to find the closest pointy thing there was, and sliced open his wrist. He could hear screams behind him, particularly his father's, but they were all a blur behind him, behind the loud, loud voice in his head. _NOT SAFE. Blood sigils…Make it safe. No one should find you. They can't. _A circle painted in blood, symbol inside. _Press it. Get rid of them. NOW!_ His bloodied hand hit the picture. Then, bright light exploded. A few people disappeared. Kurt had no idea why.

He crumpled the ground, an extreme scream shaking his lungs, escaping, freeing.

**END CHAPTER THREE**

AN: Sorry about the long wait, and the shortness of the update. Hopefully it was good?

Anyways, just press the little blue button right under here…

See it?

Press it.

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Review.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: This is for you Jane!

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

_**Chapter Four**_

_ McKinely was losing, three to seven. It was half time, when suddenly; Kurt didn't feel…__himself __anymore. He jumped out of his place on the pyramid, and ran to find the closest pointy thing there was, and sliced open his wrist. He could hear screams behind him, particularly his father's, but they were all a blur behind him, behind the loud, loud voice in his head. __NOT SAFE. Blood sigils…Make it safe. No one should find you. They can't. __A circle painted in blood, symbol inside. __Press it. Get rid of them. NOW!__ His bloodied hand hit the picture. Then, bright light exploded. A few people disappeared. Kurt had no idea why._

_ He crumpled the ground, an extreme scream shaking his lungs, escaping, freeing._

Clap. Clap. Clap._ What was that?_ Kurt thought. _W-what just happened to me?_ Clap. Clap. Clap. _Urgh. Who's clapping?_ He inwardly moaned. "Very impressive, love." _Was that a Scottish accent? Since when were Scots in Lima?_ Kurt thought drowsily. He vaguely noted some of the Cheerios rushing after him, Coach Sue shouting, as well as his father, from the stands. Mostly, everyone was outraged and confused… "Now, now, we can't have that , can we?" The voice asked again.

"W-who-who're you?" Kurt slurred, the blood loss getting to him. It was then his shutting eyes noticed an impeccably dressed middle-aged or so man staring at him.

The man laughed, walking towards Kurt. "Me? I'm Crowley."

"Excuse me, but what exactly are you doing out here?" Sue screamed at the man-Crowley.

"People are so annoying aren't they? Guess I'll just have to fix that."

An invisible force pushed the people to the walls of the bleachers.

"May I have your attention, please?" Crowley asked. "You see, Good old Mr. Hummel here isn't who you think he is." He grinned. "Isn't that right, love?"

Kurt frowned as much as his rapidly blood loosing body would allow. "I-I…" He couldn't make out anymore.

Crowley sighed. "Or for heaven's sakes," He flicked his wrist. The wound was healed. "Now, as you were saying."

It was magnificent, it was almost as though the wound had never been there in the first place, if it wasn't for the blood staining the grass and the symbol on the bleacher wall. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Kurt said shakily.

"Now, love, please. You're saying there isn't anything wrong with you?"

By this point, Kurt was wondering why no one was saying anything. Why his father didn't shout out and defend him. Then he realized, if this mysterious force-which was by no doubt coming from Crowley-could knock people against walls, who said it couldn't stop people from talking? "There is nothing wrong with being gay," Kurt defended.

"I'm not talking about_ that,"_ Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'm talking about the pictures you draw, the names you recite. Do you really think it's normal for people to automatically assume that anyone, absolutely _anyone,_ named Dean was a trustworthy person. Of course not, Kurt darling. In fact, I have a little something of yours." He pulled out a little vial on a chain. Inside of it was a bright shining light, something so impossible, real and before his eyes.

"I've never seen anything like that in my life." Kurt said breathlessly. "It's so beautiful." He whispered to himself.

"This might just hurt one little bit," Crowley grinned. It took Kurt a while before noticing that the man stood right beside him. The bottle was uncorked, and the dazzling contents were poured into him, and Kurt was immersed in memories. So many, so many… Kurt's breathing rate increased, hyperventilating. The pain was impossible to describe. The mind blowing agony was everywhere, in various levels of pain. It was like a migraine on steroids down by his toes, which heart the less. In his head and his spine were set on fire, more torturous than being skinned alive, more barbaric than the medieval ages. His head swam, flashes and thoughts from so long ago imbedding themselves inside…

_ Father, sisters, brothers…Lucifer's Fall, Michael's reaction. Gabriel wanted it over and Raphael didn't know what to do. Gabriel leaving, becoming a soldier. The siege of perdition._

_ A man named Jimmy Novak. A barn, with odd symbols. A…man…The Righteous man. His Righteous man…_

"DEAN!" The scream tore through his lungs, depleting his oxygen, shook his vocal chords beyond capacity, so fast it made his mouth vibrate and his throat sore. _Dean, his charge. Dean Winchester, Michael's vessel. Dean, his friend. Dean, the one he let down. I'm sorry Dean. I'm…sorry…_

-=OOO=-

They were just about to run into the stadium when they heard it. It was a voice, shrieking out in agony. Screaming _Dean's _name. Their speed quickened, determined to get to the poor person before the demons did. Once they finally got there, they hated what they saw.

AN: YAY! Finally finished. I should have been doing homework for the time I'm going to be gone, but oh well, I REGRET NOTHING! Sorry for the shortness, you guys.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thank you to everyone for such wonderful reviews! To Arkham Inmate 1473 : Dean, honey. It's Dean.

To LunarGuardian27: …I hope you like it, I added him in on request. I'm not quite sure if his characterization is quite right, though…

Disclaimer: I Disclaim thoroughly and completely: I no own-y.

**Chapter Five**

"Really?" Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes up to the sky. "You think you could be a bit more creative than that, love." He looked to the hyperventilating boy upon the ground, when suddenly, he froze. "Well, well, well," He turned his gaze to the entrance of the stadium. "Look who we have here." The doors burst open, to find the Winchester brothers, thoroughly apprehended by demons.

"Little bit slow," One demon taunted. "Didn't get to their holy water fast enough, they were so distracted." An evil grin ripped across the demon's features.

"Have they been disarmed?" Crowley asked disinterestedly.

"Yes."

"Good. Let them go."

The demon was in shock. "But we only just contained them-" It began.

"Sweetheart, they're in a stadium surrounded by demons. Surely you lot aren't that incompetent to stop them when there are so many of you?" Dark brown eyes flicked an annoyed gaze at the demon who quickly released the two, fully knowing Crowley's wrath.

"What's going on," Sam asked first.

Crowley grinned slightly. "Oh nothing. Just repaying a little…debt."

"What do you mean debt, what did that kid ever do-no." Sam asked, before his voice turned to disbelief.

"Yes, actually."

"This kid made a deal?" Dean asked for assurance, unbelieving.

"Of a sort." Crowley trailed off enigmatically, turning his gaze from the boys.

"He would have been what, seven, eight? No way."

"Oh no, much older than that." Crowley grinned, still not turning back. "Tell me, do you believe in reincarnation?"

"Reincar-What?" Dean asked.

"It's where a person dies, and then they get reborn." Crowley informed, voice slightly muffled from the distance.

"So you're saying this kid is being punished for something he supposedly did in a past life?" Sam asked, disgusted.

"…Basically. Except, this life isn't exactly past. You see," He turned to face them. "With humans, everything is _so_ easy. Heaven or Perdition, really. But with others…" He made a gesture in the air. "Well, everything is a tad bit more complicated." He smiled sickly sweet for a moment.

"So this kid is a monster?" Sam clarified.

"Now I didn't say that," Crowley drawled. "In fact, he's as far away from monster as possible."

"So if he's not monster, then what is he?" Dean asked throwing his hands up in the air.

"Angel."

-=OOO=-

David Karofsky wasn't the nicest of people at one time of his life. Especially not to Kurt Hummel. But this time was a different time, he reminded himself, as he watched unnoticed as Kurt-_Kurt, Kurt,Kurt; Why Kurt?-_ collapsed into a quivering, feverish heap, and two unknown men came along, questioning everything he knew. Everything started to fall apart, starting with the odd-creepy, really-man's questions and comments, going onto how they thought Kurt was a monster and had made some sort of _deal_ with that guy, finishing with them calling him an angel. That seemed to be the one thing that Dave could agree with, calling Kurt an angel. Kurt had to be an angel, what with his unbelievable bravery so as to come out at one of the most homophobic public schools possible. _He looked like an angel, too, _a quiet voice in his mind told him.

Everyone was apprehended, nobody had the courage to do anything to the-the _monsters_ surrounding them. _Courage._ Wasn't that Kurt's boyfriend's little catchphrase? Yet _he_ did not stand, did not try to save his love. What was his name, Blaine? David wasn't even sure he came. A slow burning anger grew inside of him, heating into a poisonous and intense fury.

Because David Karofsky wouldn't mind sacrificing himself as long as it was for Kurt Hummel's benefit.

-=OOO=-

_Kurt's vision swam in an ocean of fevered fits. Dean…please…Dean…I was…only doing…What I thought…Was right. _His mind was less a brain and instead more of a bowl of soupy goo. The pain was overwhelming, shaking his body with racks and sobs that were just barely stifled. His head, oh, his head. Burning, furious agony raged. His back was horrid, so…so very, extremely _empty._ Why did it feel so horrible, aching and reaching out for something invisible, something pure and so desperately precious? "Father," He choked. "Father, please. Help me." His words were barely audible, a plea, a prayer. But his father was gone, his memory reminded. _That doesn't mean we stop believing,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jimmy Novak whispered quietly from the back of his mind. His words couldn't be contained any longer, he knew. The pain was too great, too all-consuming to be controlled. "_FATHER!"_

-=OOO=-

"Really now," Crowley sighed. "Your daddy can't help you,"

"Let me get this straight," Dean stared at Crowley as if he had just spouted two heads. "You're saying that this _kid,"_ He emphasized. "Is a fallen angel."

"So he finally guesses it!" Crowley crowed. "Personally, I would have thought it'd be Sam. He always was smarter." The demon shrugged.

"No way."

Crowley rolled his eyes up at the sky, as if to say, 'why am I always the one stuck with these idiots?_'_ "Yes, he is."

"No-"

"Say he is an actual fallen angel," Sam cut in. "What have you done to him?"

"Gave him something of his," Crowley inspected a ring on his finger.

"You gave him his grace?" Sam's eyes furrowed together in confusion. "That's a bit odd, considering it never happened like this before," He accused.

"Not his grace, no." Crowley turned back. "His memories. I've heard it's a rather…_painful _process, having your memories of being an angel, all while inside a human body." A sadistic grin twisted its way onto the king of perdition's face. "Well, painful is a kind word for it. More like maddening."

"So you're driving this kid insane?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Basically," Crowley informed. "Still, I'm surprised you boys haven't figured it out yet."

"Figured out what? That you're sickly torturing this kid and that we can do nothing to stop it?" Sam demanded.

"No, not that." Crowley waved a hand. "That's boring. You truly haven't figured it out yet?" A dark eyebrow raised.

"What?" Dean growled. "Because I'm sick of your stupid games while a kid is going crazy over there!"

"That's not just any fallen angel, Dean." Crowley's tone grew cold. "That's your old friend, Castiel. Remember? He ruined one of my deals."

Dean's world stopped right at the moment he said "Castiel,"

**AN: **I'm not quite sure if that was good or not. Anyways, feel free to drop in a review, tell me what you think! Any kind of feedback is appreciated. Until next time, SSQ.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Hi guys! Wow, I've never done an update so close to the other before…Meh. Anyways, to Thenormalfreak: Please don't eat my arm, I won't be able to type as quickly then, if at all. Nor will I be able to play any of my instruments. Or write, if it's my right arm.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

**Chapter Six**

_Dean's world stopped the moment he said "Castiel,"_

"You're lying," Dean argued, trying to ground him. No, Cas isn't alive, he reminded himself. This is Crowley just trying to get to you, get inside your head.

"I wouldn't be so quick to believe that if I were you," Crowley just looked at him. "Why on earth would I lie?"  
>"Well, I don't know," Dean started sarcastically. "Maybe it's the fact that you're a <em>demon, <em>and you want to get away with the torture of a kid."

Crowley arched up an eyebrow. "But how would that explain him screaming your name?"

Dean spluttered for a bit. "How should I know? Maybe the kid knows somebody named Dean. It's a common name," He defended.

"Hm," Crowley stared. "And here I thought you were incapable to come to a reasonable conclusion. Well, I'm sorry, but it's wrong."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean—"

Their arguments were cut off when a large, burly man of about eighteen years stood up. A few shocked gasps echoed around the stadium, all eyes on this person.

"Stop it," His voice was strong and resolved, courageous. "Stop hurting him."

"I'm sorry; who exactly do you think you are?" Crowley glared. "You can't just tell me to stop it, like I'm a bully on the playground."

"Well I just did," The teenager furrowed his eyebrows. "So I'd suggest that you stop…_injuring_ Kurt." He turned a steely gaze onto the king of perdition.

"You didn't quite answer my question," Crowley's voice dripped with malice. "_Who_ are you?"

"I'm nobody," He told the demon. "Just someone who has enough F***ing bravery to stand up and make you stop."

"…but that's not quite right, now is it," Sleek charm oozed off his tone. "Tell me your name."

"David Karofsky," He informed dully. "Why?"

"That doesn't really matter, _David,"_ Pursed lips and a glaring face glowered at the teenager. "But the thing is, you won't get to stop me." He was resolved. There was no stopping him, not ever.

-=OOO=-

Kurt was in a pit of flames. This agony was never ending, the memories of being so whole, so unbelievably powerful yet having none of it reducing him into a pile of goo on the ground. Not literally, of course not, but he certainly felt it. Yet, he could sense it. He could sense the slight tug of brightness somewhere near, the undeniable pull of grace. It was only a little bit, tiny really, but if he got that, if he could latch on, maybe, just maybe, He'd be okay. For a moment, just a moment, he relished in that hope. It lit up his being like nothing ever could, nothing before at least. Hope was special like that. Bright blue eyes opened with a flash, and struggling, he stood up. Nobody noticed, thank goodness. _There_, he found it, the tiny pinprick of grace. He threw himself over, tackling a man. He couldn't see faces, he couldn't see anything but darkness and the miniscule amount of grace, lighting up like a star in the night sky.

-=OOO=-

No matter what they thought was going to happen, Sam was certain that they didn't expect the child who was just a moment ago writhing on the ground to stand up and throw himself at Dean.

"What the f-" Dean began. The kid's hands scrambled for purchase, and Sam rushed to help Dean. The teen's fingers slid past Dean's jacket and shirt, until just a moment later when it hit the handprint that had been scarred into his flesh ever since he was "Gripped tight and raised from perdition," Or so Castiel called it.

"Hunter. My hunter. _Dean,"_ Blue eyes shuddering shut in relief.

"_No!"_ Crowley shouted, but it was too late.

Bright light, white and pure, glowed around them, obscuring them from view for a second. A moment after, the boy stood up, and an unbelievable sight stood before them.

Coal black wings as dark as the night sky above fluttered around the boy's shoulders. Dean blinked for a moment before he asked something in a horse childlike voice. "Cas?"

**AN: **Sorry for the shortness…


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Hi guys! Thanks so much for all the reviews! Sorry for the terribly long wait-to paraphrase something some other fanfiction author once wrote: Welcome to reading my fics, where things aren't updated for extraordinary long times.

Anyway, if things are feeling a bit too Kurtofsky-ish, Klaine-rs COME AT ME WITH IDEAS, BRO! I need ideas. This was pretty much as far as I had planned out. Gosh dangit, now I actually have to think…Anyways, yes. Requests are welcome. Just pop in a little idea in the box and I'll think about it/do it.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Understood? Cool.

**Chapter 7**

The light, it blinded and it illuminated, it gave him strength. Grace, grace everywhere. Filling him up and swelling him with a feeling of pleasantness. He remembered everything from everywhere he ever was. Guilt surrounded him, swamping him inside of the feeling. "Dean, Dean Winchester." He murmured, looking at the man from beneath dark feathers. His head was still slightly jumbled, that barest pinprick of grace was enough to stop his brain from imploding, but hardly enough to straighten out his thoughts. "How-how did I know-" He panicked. He didn't know this man, he shouldn't, yet he had memories of him. Wonderful, happy memories he wondered how he ever survived without. "My righteous man, soul so bright that even from the darkest pits of perdition it shone like a beacon."

"Cas-Castiel?" Asked the eldest Winchester.

Kurt wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Ye-es," He tried cautiously. "I've been known by those names." Blue eyes blinked harshly, brain almost exploding from the sheer force.

"Are you Castiel or aren't you?" Asked Sam.

_Samuel, the abomination. -"Sam's my friend."-Sam Winchester, Lucifer's vessel. - _

"I-I don't know." He muttered, jerking his head about. _ Angels-Brothers-Dean. Dean. Dean-Apocalypse. _His brain swam in the overload of memories, feelings, thoughts. "Cas—Kurt-Jimmy?" So many memories…It was like the migraine to end all migraines. _A big tan trench coat of Jimmy's wrapped upon his shoulders, It used to be James's father's, who was a schoolteacher-Claire Novak-Dean! -Brothers, brothers please don't do this-_ He twitched. Once, twice, thrice. "Dean-Dean, help me please!" He whimpered. _Falling, falling hurt. Humanity hurt. Feelings hurt. Sam-Oh Sam I wish there was another way. Stuck inside the cage with Lucifer, there couldn't be a thing more terrible.-Pain. Pain. Dean, Dean where are you. Dean, please help me-Dean! Dean, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me, just please, please help. _

He quavered, lying on the green stadium grass.

"So sorry. _Sorrysorrysorry,_ be alright Sam-" He breathed, in and out, in and out. "Dean, Dean, please. I did everything you asked, everything you wanted-Always came when you called, always. Everytime." _Ouch, ouch, there came the regret and guilt. _

"Jesus Christ-He's going to fry his brains out or something!" Exclaimed Dean.

"No, actually, he's not," Glared Crowley. "Thanks to the fact that there was _grace _in tweedledum's little birthmark, his head actually won't implode. Insanity however…Well, nobody double crosses me, boys. Anyway, I think I better go, tricky business, this stuff with angels," He smiled in a tight-lipped sort of way, before disappearing in the way only demons can. "Goodbye, Mr. Karofsky. I'm sure I'll end up hearing from you eventually."

_Crowley?-Crowley, souls, guilt. Superman, Kryptonite. Deandeandean. I'm sorry Dean. So very sorry. _

"Hey!" Dean called after him. "So you're just going to leave everyone, just like that?"

The "mysterious bonds" on the audience disappeared, and an angry Burt Hummel barreled down the steps to his son as other onlookers spoke and chattered and gasped.

"That's my son!" He cried, catapulting himself towards Kurt. "Get that f*** away from my son!"He shouted at them.

_Dad? Dad-Father's gone. Loneliness. He left me, all alone. Dad-Dad, dad help. _"Hurts." He murmured. "Hurts so much."

The father held his son's head, soothing him with words that no one could hear. The boy clung to his parent like a lifeline, feelings from another time and place swarming in his head. _Don't leave. Don't leave. Father, don't leave me alone. Father! I know I am not special, but there are others. Just don't leave us. Father, father please… _"Somebody call an ambulance!" He screamed.

-=OOO=-

An ambulance arrived quickly, which was the only time Burt Hummel felt that his child would be alright enough for him to go and talk to the Winchester brothers. "Now I don't know what you guys did or how you did it, but somehow my kid is having an attack worse than when he was a child. But if you hurt my son in any way, shape or form, don't doubt for one _minute_ that I'm not going to kick you're a** so that you're suffering even more than he is, understood."

Dean had at one point hoped, and believed that he was never going to get the Hurt-him/her-and-I'll-end-you speech, but obviously he was wrong. Turns out the perks of the job were less than before, he mused. "Yes sir," He and Sam intoned in unison.

"But trust us, we didn't do anything to him." Assured Sam.

"Oh yeah, then who did?" Retorted the man. "Because it sure didn't seem like anyone else could've."

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Sam chose his words carefully, shaking his head.

"And why's that?" His tone's lower, more threatening. "I'm a reasonable man. If your reasoning is something that you think that I wouldn't believe, then I obviously shouldn't believe it."

Meanwhile in a hospital bed, Kurt opened his bright blue eyes, repeating coordinates and a single word over and over.

"_60.1 degrees West, 42.35 degrees North. Grace."_


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Hiya, guys! Long time no see! This Chapter was a bit difficult to write, as I'm sort of stuck and 60.1 degrees west, 42.35 Degrees North is somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean-(It was supposed to be somewhere in Pennsylvania, But I suck at trying to find Coordinates on my globe.) Anyways…Here is this, and try not to hate me if it sucks. Onwards to the show, Allons-y! Oh, and a very, very happy Christmas to you all (If you celebrate that. If not, happy Monday.)  
><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

"Alright," Sighed Dean Winchester. "We've got a crowd of people who all believe we traumatized and nearly killed a kid, a somewhat-remembering Cas, and Crowley to deal with. Anything else?"

"Don't forget his father, boyfriend, and stepbrother! And the fact they don't remember the demons." Sam called from the other room.

"Yeah." Dean mumbled. "Great."

The brother akin to a moose stepped into the cramped motel bedroom. "Okay, so I've been doing research on this Kurt kid-"

"Cas," Corrected Dean with a stubborn resolve. "It's Cas."

"I've been doing research on him," Sighed Sam. "You know, looking to see if there were any place connected to him where Crowley might scavenge next, see if there were any sightings of a meteor nine months before Kurt's birth."

"Alright," The elder Winchester said. "So were there?"

"Not anywhere particularly near here." Sam informed. "But there was one in the Atlantic Ocean, somewhat near the coast of New York…Where Burt Hummel and his wife Alice were on a cruise celebrating their fifth anniversary."

"So basically to find the poor kid's grace we have to go deep sea diving."

"Kind of, yeah."

"Wonderful." The shorter one of the pair frowned.

-=OOO=- _Meanwhile, in the Atlantic Ocean _-=OOO=-

_Rrrhh, Rrrrhh._

"Come on boys; put your back into it!" A Scottish voice called from the boat to those operating the drill. "It's only a few thousand feet underwater, can't be too hard! You, Talbot," Crowley pointed to a young woman standing next to him once the drill stopped.

"Yes sir?" Her eyes flicked black.

"Put on a wet suit, you're going to go and collect it." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Can't risk letting the Winchesters get to it, eh sweetheart."

"Of course not, Mr. Crowley," She smiled a sickly sweet grin at him; he laughed and turned away. "And Mr. Crowley?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'm nobody's sweetheart."

-=OOO=-

The hospital door shut softly.

"Hiya, Kurt," Blaine's voice was pleasant, calm and careful. "How've you been?"

_Blaine-happinesslovegood-BlaineDean-Nonono, Blaine. Just Blaine. _"Hey." Croaked the countertenor. "I'm…doing alright." Given the circumstances. A thousand memories flashed by. _Are you alright, Cas? Dean. Dean. _

"That's good," He smiled weakly. "I brought you flowers," He gestured to the bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

"Thanks," Kurt smiled at the bow-tie clad man. "It means a lot to me, it really does." _Nochickflickmoments-_ Stop, He told himself. My name is Kurt Hummel, I'm eighteen years old…

"Kurt? Kurt?" Blaine's eyes were wide and worried.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry. You were saying?"

"It's not the same without you, Kurt. Everyone in Glee is really worried." He bit his lip. "I'm worried. Your dad is worried. What…Happened to you, Kurt?"

How didn't he know, wondered the teen in the hospital bed. About the demons that were there. About Dean and Sam and Crowley-

No, Kurt. He reminded himself. That never happened, remember? You fell off the Cheerio pyramid when two men barged in and you got a concussion. You're not an angel, you didn't know those men. Though they were rather attractive… "I don't know, Blaine. The nurses say I have a concussion from falling off the cheerio pyramid." He shrugged. Yet when did concussions give people false memories, was his last thought before the world went black.

"Kurt? Kurt?!" Called Blaine as his boyfriend fell limp. "Nurse! Somebody get a Nurse!"

_It's moving. They're moving the grace…_My _grace._

AN: So…Rather small, but it's still something. A Christmas present, if you will. Or … a present to help you through your Monday, I suppose.


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